Memories
by TyriaT
Summary: Sara recalls her childhood. Some GSR.


Title: Memories 

Author: Tyria

Disclaimer: No, I don't own them. If I did there would definitely be more things happening between Sara and Grissom…and naked Billy butt. If only that camera had panned a little further down in ITB…

Rating: T for Teen

Summary: Sara recalls her childhood

AN: Ever want to thank your beta and kill her simultaneously? I was just minding my own business helping her brainstorm her newest fic, when suddenly, bunny attack! This came out of it. Thanks, Jenn.

I would also like to make a small dedication to Mrs. Smith, my fifth grade teacher, who wouldn't accept my excuses and pushed me to do better, in math ironically enough.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Whenever people think California, they think west coast, Pacific Ocean, and surfing. But California is a huge state, and there is a lot of land that isn't near the water. Take the area I grew up in; Modesto. We were a farming community. Land all around covered in crops and livestock, mostly cows. A very relaxing place with houses placed far apart. Good place to live, especially if you didn't want anyone to hear the yelling and cries of pain that escaped the house.

We didn't always live there. A few months after they got married, my parents started a bed and breakfast in Tamales Bay, and were pretty successful. They weren't rich by any means, but the place was never completely empty.

It always surprised me how long my father was able to get away with abusing my mother with other people around. I still don't understand how other people didn't see it. Of course, thinking back, I never saw my mom wear short sleeve shirts or shorts; always pants and long sleeves. I just assumed she was cold, until one day, when I woke up early from my nap and witnessed a beating. Apparently, it was one of the less severe ones, because there was no trip to the hospital that night. It was only later, after living through many more beatings, that I was able to rate the severity.

I stayed out of sight until it was completely over and my father had left, probably to go get more beer. Cautiously, I came out of my hiding place and went to my mom's side to make sure she was alright. The shock and embarrassment were clearly reflected in her eyes as soon as she realized that I was there and had seen everything. She made me promise to never tell anyone, and to do everything I could to stay out of my father's way when he was angry.

That was when I was…three, maybe four. A couple months later, after many trips to the hospital, the police showed up at our doorstep. There had been some complaints from the neighbors. That, along with the hospital records, was enough for the police to suspect something wasn't quite right. They finally confronted my father after a few of the guests acknowledged some strange sounds in the middle of the night.

Things seemed to settle down for about six months or so. There were no fights or yelling, which I found really strange. When you spend your entire life in high volume, the quiet is oddly disconcerting. And then one day, after we arrived home from a day spent shopping for much needed clothing, my father announced we were moving and all our stuff had been packed for us. He shuttled us outside, we piled into the car and left.

At first I thought we were going on vacation. It wasn't until a week later when I asked my mother when we were going home that I learned the truth. She sat me down and explained that we were never going back; this was our new home. My father had moved us far enough away that no one around us would know what had happened, but close enough that the move didn't take long. I have no idea what happened to the house, the business, or anything.

After we moved, the yelling and the beatings were more frequent. I guess my father felt he could be more open, because of the isolation of the houses. It was summer so they were able to enroll my brother and me in the local school without problem. He probably timed the move that way so there wouldn't be questions, or at least not many. He never did like questions.

My father was able to get work helping out the neighbors with their farm, and Mother found a job working in a nursery. She loved working in the soil so much, she started a garden in our backyard and grew all different kinds of food; tomatoes, cucumbers, potatoes, herbs. The neighbors were really kind and allowed her to have some seeds to help her along. Whenever she went outside, I was right behind her. What child wouldn't love being allowed to get dirty?

The garden also became my refuge. When my father would come home drunk or angry, I would go outside and work, ignoring the noises coming from inside the house. They woke me up one evening, so I found a lantern and worked until things quieted down, then went back to bed.

Things continued like that for years. I was always careful to follow my mother's advice about staying away from my father, until that fateful day.

My mother had sent me inside to get her gardening gloves from her bedroom, because she had forgotten them. Just as I found them, my father entered the bedroom. He must have had a bad day at work, because he came in steaming. He saw me with the gloves clutched in my hands, and asked me what I thought I was doing. I told him mother had forgotten her gloves so I was getting them for her and then I was going to help her. He told me I was spending too much time out there and forbid me from going into the garden. When I told him he couldn't do that, he got in my face and asked me to repeat myself, so I did.

That's when he struck me.

It was a harsh slap across my face that sent me crashing into the wall and sliding down onto the floor. That was the first and the last time he hit me in anger.

He was screaming something I couldn't understand because of the ringing in my ear and towered over me about to hit me again, when my mother struck him the first time. She must have heard the noise and came running to see what was happening. She was able to stab him three times before he even turned around. As soon as his attention was focused away from me, I ran and hid in my room.

You know what happened next. Into the foster system I went. No one ever seems to want a teenager, so I went through a lot of foster homes. I didn't see the need for creating bonds with anyone. Instead, I concentrated on learning. I would lock myself in my room, and read anything I could get my hands on. I also worked ahead in my textbooks, especially the math ones. I couldn't get enough of it. During the lunch period, I snuck into my math teacher's classroom and borrowed all the textbooks she had on the shelves. Of course I had to return them when I moved.

I did this at every school I ended up at so I could continue to learn everything possible. One day, a teacher caught me and forced me to explain what I was doing. She promptly took me to the principal's office and sat me down at a table. Then she brought out a booklet and told me to answer everything I could. I found out later, when I had to take it again before graduating, they had given me a proficiency test meant for high school seniors. They found out how much I knew and began letting me take whatever classes I wanted, including some college courses at the local branch campus.

I still moved around, but kept in touch with that teacher. She ended up helping me with my college application, enabling me to get a full ride to Harvard. From there it was easy to get into the graduate program at Berkeley. And well, you know about San Francisco…

i

Sara moves her head to look in Grissom's eyes after her last statement. He wraps his right arm around her pulling her to him and places his left hand against her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "Yes, I do know about San Francisco. It has held a special place in my heart ever since I met you there."

They had been cuddling after making love, when Sara moved away from Grissom and started on her narrative. He allowed her to have her space until she was done. They lay there facing each other for a few minutes; Sara trying to figure out how Grissom had taken the tale, and Grissom just letting the full story sink into his head.

Just as Sara starts to worry, Grissom pulls her head to him and gives her a soft kiss on her lips. Then, he rolls onto his back and rests her head on his chest, his left hand now stroking her hair. She moves her hand to rest on his chest and feels him take a deep breath. "Have I ever told you how brave you are?"

Sara lifts her head to look at him. He looks directly into her eyes, his admiration shining through. "You think I'm brave?" He gives a small nod. "But…I never came forward. I just let everything happen until my mother lost control."

His hand moves back to her cheek and he rubs it with his thumb again. "She lost control because he went after you. Your Mom and I have that in common. If anyone hurt you, I would want them to be in pain, and I would stop them in any way I could. That's exactly what your mother did; stopped the person causing you pain. You did exactly what your mother told you to do; tell no one and stay out of his way. Plus, if memory serves, you told me you thought what was happening in your house was normal. General Omar Bradley said, 'Bravery is the capacity to perform properly even when scared to death.' I'm sure you had to be scared when your father asked you to repeat yourself, but you did it anyway and stood up for yourself. You are brave…and tenacious. I'm thankful every day we are together for your tenacity." Sara gives him a watery smile and moves her head to rest against him again.

He thinks carefully about everything she has told him and it brings to mind a question that he cannot get away from. "I'm not saying there had to be, but what prompted this?"

She snuggles her face into his neck. "Mrs. Smith, the teacher I told you about, she died a couple days ago. Her daughter found some of our correspondence and thought I might like to know, so she sent me a letter."

Grissom feels her blinking rapidly against his skin, trying to hold the tears back. She isn't completely successful, because he feels a lone drop hit his skin and slide off. "Oh, honey," he says as he pulls her tighter to himself.

They lay there quietly for a while; she getting herself under control, he giving her the comfort of his arms.

After a few minutes when he thinks she has calmed back down, he kisses the top of her head and tentatively speaks. "Sara?"

"Hmmm?"

"Is she still alive?"

She frowns in confusion. "Is who alive?"

"Your mother," he answers as he strokes her hair.

"Yes, serving out a life sentence in California."

"When was the last time you visited her?"

Sara sighs while thinking about it. "Years…I know it was before I came to Vegas. I haven't gone back since."

"Would you like to?"

She raises her head and looks him in the eye. "You want to meet my mother?"

"I'd like to thank her for saving you and keeping you safe; for allowing us to come to this place in our lives."

Sara swallows hard and then leans in to passionately kiss him. When the kiss is done, she whispers against his lips, "Thank you, Gil."

He cocks an eyebrow. "What for?"

"For listening, for understanding, for taking a chance on me; for any and all of those, thank you." They kiss gently once more, and settle in for the night. Sara lays her head on his shoulder, her right hand curled around the side of his neck, her fingers barely touching his hairline and her right leg surrounding his. Gil wraps his right arm around her, holding her to him, and slides his left hand into her hair. Their breathing evens out, matches to the other, and they fall into a dreamless sleep. 


End file.
